


Overcome

by fuck_me_barnes



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Skinny!Steve, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dubious Consent, Edging, Experienced Steve Rogers, First Time, Frottage, Impulse Control, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Restraints, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Sub Bucky Barnes, Teasing, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuck_me_barnes/pseuds/fuck_me_barnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bucky is a terrible, cocksure, arrogant tease, and Steve...well, Steve gives him a very unexpected run for his money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overcome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wobblyheadeddollcaper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wobblyheadeddollcaper/gifts).



It was funny, really. He had _no idea_.

If there was one thing Bucky was good at, it was watching Steven Grant Rogers. Honestly, it'd become practically instinct at this point. A reflex. He'd been doing it ever since they were kids. Make sure he wasn't pushing himself too hard on the playground, triggering an asthma attack. Keeping an eye on him so he didn't get into too many scraps he couldn't find his way out of, get his ass kicked up and down the block somewhere. And now...this.

And _he_ thought Bucky didn't notice.

He chuckled to himself quietly, slicking his hair back carefully with the last of the pomade, preening in front of the mirror. Couldn't blame the kid, really. He was well aware he was a looker, a charmer. He always had the gals hanging off of him, and, if he was going to be completely fair, more than a few guys, for that matter. Something about those baby blues, he figured. Something about the wicked, knowing curl of his lips in a smile that was, he knew, practically an engraved invitation to sin.

At twenty-two, he knew _very_ well when someone wanted him. Badly. He was no fool, he'd been around the block so many times he's pretty sure he'd worn a path. So of _course_ he'd noticed. He always knew when he had a dame on the run. This ain't much different.

It wasn't that he didn't want to fuck him. He _did_. That plush, pouty mouth of his, those long dark eyelashes, nicer than any girl's? Those slim, delicate fingers, brushing his hair outta his eyes all the time, lying on the couch drawing, undershirt thin and hanging off his bony little frame? Yeah, he wouldn't mind getting his hands on Steve, all right. But, truth be told, more than he wanted to fuck him, Bucky kinda wanted to fuck _with_ him, first.

So...he played dumb. 

He decided he wouldn't make any overt moves, just...keep his behaviour subtle, and discreet. If Steve decided to give in and be honest with him about his little crush, then Bucky'd happily give him what he wanted. He'd wait, until Steve tells him. But not a moment before. It'd be like a game, a challenge against himself. He's so God damned used to getting what he wanted, every time, but this...this was gonna be different. Something new. An amusement.

 

* * *

 

"Whatcha drawin', Stevie?" he asks casually, hanging over the back of the couch, just a little too close to be _entirely_ comfortable, but not so near that it appeared deliberate. Steve actually jumps - it's _adorable_ \- and slams his sketchbook closed. 

"Buck," he squeaks out, a blush rising on his cheeks. "Jesus." Steve turns to look at him, and Bucky meets his gaze - keeps it warm, friendly, open, a slight smile on his face. Perfectly normal. He can't resist the provocation. He reaches his hand out to grip Steve's shoulder, firmly but briefly. Just a little squeeze, just a _second_ or two longer than strictly necessary.

"Dirty pictures, huh? 'S all right, I get it," he winks, and gracefully vaults over the back of the couch so that he's sitting right next to him, their thighs touching. Part of the game was dominating his space, real careful-like. Nothing _too_ forward, just...pushing the boundaries, a little. God knows, he could probably just lean in and kiss him right now, _take_ him right now, and he'd let him. But that'd mean an end to this little game, and Bucky was enjoying himself far, far too much to stop so soon.

Steve goes even redder. "It ain't like that, and you know it." 

Well, of course Bucky knew it. He'd first noticed the way Steve was looking at him about two weeks ago, when he'd been going on about some queenie or another trailing after him down at Dempsey's, watching him dance with a hungry look on his face. Bucky'd made some flip comment, bragged about his being irresistible to everyone, and he'd caught that brief, hot flash in Steve's gaze that made him flick his eyes away real quick, clearing his throat real quiet before looking back up at him again. And just like that, Bucky _realized_ what that look meant, and had grinned. He'd had the hots for Steve since he was fourteen, and yeah, maybe he was curious, now.

Snorting, Bucky reaches across his lap for the sketchpad. "Sure it ain't. You're a fella, a fella's got needs...or, at least, _this_ fella's been taking life drawing classes down at the college, nights. With nude lady models. Mighta given him _ideas_." He chuckles. Bucky'd bet dollars to donuts that latest sketch was a picture of him and not a young lady.

Scowling, Steve whips the sketchbook just out of reach as he'd predicted he'd do, leaving Bucky with his arm stretched across Steve's legs, his torso turned so he's directly facing him. Steve blinks, staring at him like a deer in headlights, and Bucky can tell his throat's gone dry, because it makes a little clicking sound when he swallows. He lets one beat of silence hang in the air before straightening himself up with a sigh.

"All right, all right. Y' don't wanna tell me about your secret project, you don't hafta." He turns to tip a grin to Steve before standing, stretching. Bucky turns to face him again, close enough that he could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. Casually, he rucks up the hem of his undershirt to scratch lazily at his belly, tangling his fingers through the dark trail of hair that leads down below his belt buckle. 

He shrugs. "'M gonna finish gettin' ready. Goin' out tonight. Don't wait up." He walks back towards their shared room, humming under his breath, feeling Steve's eyes on him as he moves. In the darkened hallway, out of sight, Bucky grins.

 

* * *

 

The following week, he gets a _delicious_ idea. It comes to him while pretending not to notice the longing looks Steve is making at him over the dinner table, whenever he thinks Bucky's not paying attention. One of the art classes Steve is in right now is a watercolor class, and he likes to paint in their room, on account of how it's the only place in the whole apartment that has an actual window. Sure, it looked out onto a brick wall of the next building, but still.

"It's better, natural light", he'd explained.

Now that the days were longer and growing warmer, he'd take his kit and all out onto the fire escape for an hour or so every evening, painting till the light grew dim and he'd start to squint, and Bucky'd have to drag him back inside so he didn't wreck his eyesight even worse than it already was. It's been a scorcher all day, and their fourth-floor apartment was hotter than the hinges of Hell at five o'clock when he'd gotten home. He'd walked in, his tie already loosened, and peeled off his shirt nice and slow, aware of how it had been clinging to him with the humidity and his own sweat. 

Steve had blinked at him and then hastily grabbed his things to go paint, after that.

Bucky gave him a generous hour and a half, slapping some sandwiches together in the kitchen for their dinner, listening to Glenn Miller and his Orchestra on the living room radio. Dancing, a little, almost absently, just in case Steve should care to look back inside. 

He checks his watch. Six-thirty.

"Stevie. C'mon inside. Dinner's ready," he calls out. As usual, there's no answer from the fire escape. Steve gets so wrapped up in what he's doing, he'd be out there all night if Bucky weren't there to keep an eye on him. Punk kid had fainted before, that way, from low blood sugar.

Moving towards the bedroom, he hums a snippet of a song under his breath. When he reaches the window, he pokes his head. out. "Didn'tcha hear me callin', jerk? Knock it off, get something to eat." He glances over at what Steve is working on: a cityscape, a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Mmm," Steve acknowledges him noncommitally, eyeing his work. He dips his brush in a jar of water gone murky with paint, cleaning it off.

"I mean it. Put it down for now." Bucky keeps his tone light, but with an edge of steel in it that won't take no for an answer. He snatches away the jar of brackish water. "Lemme help you with that." 

"Bucky, I'm not -" Steve starts to protest, reaching for it, but Bucky pulls back, stepping into the sweltering heat of the room.

"I know, I know, you ain't done. C'mon." He reaches out a hand for Steve's, to pull him in, and he takes it, after a pause. 

Blinking in the sudden dimness, Steve stumbles forward, and Bucky reaches to catch him - and the dark, paint-thick water spills all over Steve's bed.

"Shit," Bucky exclaims at the same time Steve yells "Son of a bitch," and they both tumble onto the bed after it. 

The water soaks the thin, threadbare sheet, through to the mattress, getting everywhere. There's some on Steve's shirt, and Bucky's undershirt, due to them landing in it. They both stand up quickly, brushing at their clothes.

"Oops," Bucky says, trying to sound genuinely apologetic. "Sorry, pal."

"Aw, geez..." Steve huffs, annoyed. "Now what the hell am I supposed to do tonight?" He peels the sheets off the bed and throws them on the floor in an angry wad.

"You can't sleep there, that's for sure," Bucky agrees, moving towards the kitchen to fetch more water and a few of the rags they used to clean house. He brings them back into the bedroom and starts swiping at the mattress ineffectually, dampening it further, trying to get the paint out. 

Steve sighs. "I'll just sleep on the floor."

"Nah, Stevie, this was all my fault. And the floor'll hurt your back. You can sleep in my bed with me, tonight," Bucky offers magnanimously. He doesn't miss the flush that starts in Steve's cheeks at the suggestion, but pretends he doesn't notice it at all.

"Yeah?" Steve replies, uncertainly. "Won't that be -" Steve pauses. Bucky looks at him innocently, waiting for him to finish the sentence. _Hot? Crowded? Sweaty? Tempting?_   "- um, I don't wanna put you out, or nothin'," he finishes lamely, and Bucky shoots him a sunny grin in return.

"Steve. We done this a million times before when we were kids. It's fine," he assures him, throwing the soiled sheets into the hamper.

 

* * *

 

He figures it's difficult for Steve to fall asleep, at first. It's still stiflingly hot in the apartment, and they're so close to one another, side by side on the narrow bed. They'd stripped down to their thin skivvies, "on account of the heat". He could tell that Steve was trying so hard to keep from touching any part of Bucky on the tiny single bed, which is God damned near impossible.

For his part, it's all Bucky can do not to reach over, run his hand over his narrow birdlike chest, dip his fingertips in the sweat pooling in Steve's collarbones. He wants him so bad, and having him here, so close, makes it difficult for him to think. He can smell him, close and familiar: skin and graphite, wood shavings and paint, hair that could probably use a wash. It's better than any perfume Bucky's ever smelled on any dame. It makes him dizzy, almost.

Bucky shifts, minutely, and his hand brushes against Steve's. Steve sucks in a quiet, startled breath, his fingers flinching away, and Bucky has to suppress the urge to let out a hysterical laugh. Just that little brush of fingertips alone is enough to make him half-hard, his heartbeat thumping wildly in his ears. Jesus god, when Steve gets his hands on him, really _on_ him, he might die of it.

He doesn't say anything, though, and remains still for what feels like an eternity until he hears Steve's breathing slow and shift into the gentle rise and fall that means he's asleep.

Satisfied, he closes his eyes and allows himself to sleep as well.

 

* * *

 

Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night, painfully hard, surfacing out of a dream of a head bobbing up and down over his cock, his hand fisted in blond hair. Slowly, he turns his head to look at Steve. He's flat on his back, an arm thrown over his head, long dark eyelashes sweeping over his cheeks, his lips parted slightly. He's, okay, he's _gorgeous_ in the half-light, his face pale and lax. 

He shifts, rolling on his side, slinging one leg over Steve's thighs and an arm over his chest so he's halfway on top of him, practically pinning him to the mattress. Bucky's hard cock is pressed up against Steve's hip, and it's all he can do not to start rubbing one off on him right away. Beneath him, Steve stirs, but doesn't wake fully.

Bucky lies like that for a full five minutes, and then begins slowly, erratically grinding against him. He's not going to make a move until Steve does, sure, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to try and force his hand some. Panting, and letting out sleepy little whines, his thrusts grow gradually more insistent, rhythmic, and as he does, he can feel Steve gaining consciousness.

Slim fingers finally reach over and grasp his shoulder, tentatively giving him a little shake. "Bucky," Steve hisses quietly. "Bucky. Buck? Bucky, wake up, you're..."

" _Mm_ ," Bucky replies. "Unh."

"Buck," Steve says, a little louder, breathier. He'd bet his entire next paycheck that if he reaches down right now, he'd find that Steve's just as hard as he is.

Bucky has to fight off a laugh. "Ngh. Mm. Whuzzat," he mumbles into Steve's shoulder, his lips parting slightly, nuzzling against his skin. Beneath his lips, he can feel Steve's breaking out in goosebumps. God, he is _so_ delicious, _so_ precious.

"You're...you're, uh." Steve can't quite figure out how to articulate it. 

Murmuring, "Ssh. 'M sleepin', Stevie," he rolls over, shifting his body towards the other side of the bed, so Steve's left alone and wanting.

Lying there, listening to Steve's panting, he can practically hear him wrestling with his thoughts. He lets his breath come slower, deeper, like he'd fallen back into a deep and easy sleep, and after a few minutes he feels Steve's minute movements, hears the rustle of fabric as he slowly starts to jerk himself off. 

Right about the time where he lets out a whine so quiet that Bucky can barely hear it, he rolls back over with a sleepy sigh, smacking his lips in a feigned sleep, startling Steve into yanking his hand off his own dick as if it were red-hot. 

Neither of them move, for the longest time, both their dicks hard and aching. If he can't get Steve to reach out for him in the dark to get him off, then _no one's_ going to get off.

Eventually, they both fall into a restless sleep, Bucky with a small smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

"C'mon, Stevie, come out dancin'." Lately, his success rate in getting Steve to join him in a night out is one in three, a noticeable improvement over the past, which was maybe around one in six. Predictably, Steve makes a long-suffering sigh and rolls his eyes.

"Found a real pretty dame for you, too. Name's Rose." He pulls on his jacket, hands Steve's over to him.

Putting it on, Steve's face turns into a scowl. His jacket's just a little too big for him, hangs off his skinny frame like clothes on a wash line. "Ugh, why do you keep setting me up with these girls, Bucky, you know they never -"

"She's real sweet. Long brown hair, light blue eyes, skin like a summer peach..."

Steve raises a skeptical eyebrow. "You ever even met her?"

He shrugs affably, straightening his tie. "Well, not exactly, but she's Ruby's cousin, so I trust she's gotta be a dish." Steve makes a skeptical snort behind him. "C'mon, it'll be fun. Tell you what, I'll even buy you a few rounds. I'm flush, won last night's poker game with Jack and Carl. I got a five spot in my pocket that says we're gonna have a swell time tonight."

Grumbling, Steve accompanies him to the dance hall, where, yeah, okay, Rose isn't _exactly_ as described. She's got the brown hair and blue eyes he was promised, all right, but she's got a face like a mule and a disposition to match. She sits next to Steve at a corner table, looking put out, a good foot taller than him and twice as heavy. They make the most mismatched pair Bucky's ever seen, and for a moment, his heart pangs with sympathy for the guy.

Ruby, on the other hand, is a knockout, blonde-haired, blue eyed, and an hourglass figure, legs for miles. Bucky grabs them all a round of drinks and first chance he gets he's pulling his gal out onto the dance floor. He always keeps one eye on Steve, though, who's watching him with frustrated hunger as he slides his hands down Ruby's waist, pulls her in for a kiss after a spin. Right now he's got the best of both worlds - a doll on his arm and his best guy's heated gaze on him. Money in his pocket, and the orchestra playing his favourite tune. He feels invincible.

 

* * *

 

Two hours and several drinks later, they're stumbling half-drunk back towards the apartment, Ruby on Bucky's arm and no one on Steve's. Rose had begged off with a headache half an hour ago, and he can feel Steve glaring daggers into his back as he trails a few paces behind them. Bucky wonders if Ruby's a fast girl, if tonight she'll let him. If she'll let him, right in front of Steve. Jesus god, if Steve _joined in_...

He tries to imagine it, the positions they'd end up in. Steve riding Bucky's dick while Ruby knelt over his face for him to lick. Ruby with her red lips wrapped around his cock while Steve kisses him breathless. The possibilities are endless, really, but they all have the same outcome: Bucky _coming_ , Bucky finally _getting off_. Christ, he had been denying himself for three weeks now, it was about God damned time.

Ruby's giggling, and he starts to laugh too, even though he has no idea what she'd just said. The prospects for the evening are _delightful_.

 

* * *

 

"That's _enough_ ," Steve hisses in his ear. "I'm calling her a cab." 

He'd been sitting, crowded uncomfortably, on one end of their ratty couch while Bucky and Ruby had started making time, and he pulls away from her, irritated. 

"You don't like it, go on to bed," he sasses at him. "Ain't nobody asked you to sit here and watch." At that taunt, Steve's eyes narrow and his scowl is so ferocious it actually strikes a shard of fear into Bucky's heart, along with a little thrill. He thinks, but does not say, _if you're so lonely, you oughtta join in_. Instead, he hopes Steve can read it on his face. 

Steve stomps up and fairly slams the front door - much as anyone can who's trying to be polite to their neighbours that don't appreciate noisy arguments this late at night - and heads downstairs to call Ruby's cab.

Bucky sighs. "Sorry, doll. Maybe next time," he promises, and nibbles at her neck for a few moments longer before pulling himself away. _God damn it_ , he curses himself, looking at her flushed and rumpled against the couch. 

She smiles up at him, trying to regain composure. "Aw, 's all right, James, I ought to get home before my landlady makes a fuss anyhow. And I don't want to put your roommate out. He seems...sweet," she lies, and then giggles again.

Just then, Steve throws open the door. "Cab's here," he announces abruptly, tacking on a grudging "Ma'am". 

Ruby stands and straightens herself, stopping to peck Bucky's cheek at the door. "It's been swell. See ya." He watches her blonde hair swish as she turns, Steve escorting her down the stairs, and he grits his teeth. 

Bucky'd lost his tie somewhere when he was making out with Ruby, and his shirt was half unbuttoned anyhow, and he shrugs and takes it off so he's just down to his sleeveless undershirt and trousers. When Steve reappears a few moments later, this time he does slam the door behind him, and fixes Bucky in a gaze made of pure steel, his jaw set. 

"You think you're in charge here. You ain't." Steve's low voice is cold enough to make Bucky shiver. "I know exactly what you're up to, what you've been up to for the past three weeks. I ain't stupid, Buck." He nods towards their shared little bedroom. "Get in there. Now." Bucky's so floored he doesn't move. " _March_ ," he growls, and yeah, okay, his dick is _definitely_ interested now.

Obediently, he trots towards the room, secretly thrilled. Sure, he's willing to let Steve think he has the upper hand for a minute, here. Be charitable towards the poor kid. He's reasonably sure he ain't never had his dick wet in his entire life, this is probably something entirely out of his realm. Steve's only a step or two behind him, and he's stunned when he feels a pair of hands reach out and push him onto the bed, onto his stomach so he's bent in half, knees against the floor. He hears the rasp of fabric against fabric, and realizes Steve's gotten his tie off. 

"Hands above your head," he orders, and without thinking too much about it, Bucky does, still startled into compliance. Steve straddles the small of his back, reaching up to wrap his tie skillfully around Bucky's wrists, binding them together.

"You ain't in charge here, Buck," Steve reminds him calmly as he pulls the knot tight. "You want it so bad. You think I didn't notice? You really thought I wouldn't take on that challenge, hmm?" Above him, he can hear Steve pulling off his own shirt, loosening his belt.

Bucky's head is spinning. "Wait, what?"

"You got no idea what I get up to when you're out, do ya?" Steve laughs. He slides off him and stands, reaches beneath Bucky to undo his belt deftly, start popping the buttons on his fly. Each little movement brushes against his half-hard dick, encouraging it to fill even further.

Alarm bells are going off in Bucky's head. What Steve gets up to when he goes out? What in Hell did he mean by that? He'd always figured Steve had spent his nights in, alone. Reading, maybe, drawing, maybe, listening to the radio? Where else would he have gone? What else would he have been doing? He was always home when Bucky got back, sound asleep in his bed...

"Stevie, I-" he starts, but just then Steve palms him roughly through his trousers, and he chokes off a moan.

"If I'm wrong, and you don't want this, we'll stop right now. If I do _anything_ you don't want, you tell me, and I stop. No harm done. But you lay off tryina tease me, one way or another, y'hear?" Bucky can only groan in response, Steve's hand hasn't let up, stroking him. That alone feels so good he can't think, he can hardly even _breathe_ \- he whines, incoherent with it.

"Tell me," Steve urges, taking his hand away. "You gotta say it, Buck."

"I - god, I want it, Steve, want you, _please_ ," he begs, admitting it, finally. He buries his face in the sheets, squirming, embarrassed.

In response, Steve runs one hand up his neck and into his hair, then fists it. He pulls back slightly, turns Bucky's head towards him. Steve kisses him, then, hard and bruising, their teeth clacking together. Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and drops him, panting. "Good. Don't you move," he warns.

He steps back, leaving Bucky half-bent over the bed, tied and sweating, his heart hammering in his ears.

 

* * *

 

He can't see what Steve returned with, but he can _feel_ him the moment he comes back into the room, an undeniable presence, and Bucky's stomach twists with nervous excitement. 

"Still with me, Buck?" he asks kindly. Bucky nods, squirming. He can practically feel the frown Steve makes. "No, not good enough. Say it."

Bucky wills himself to stay still. "Yeah, Stevie, I'm here," he replies quietly.

Steve doesn't reply, just sets something down on the floor out of Bucky's line of sight with a light thump. "You agree with me?"

"Huh?" Bucky asks, confused.

Gentle fingers trail from between his shoulder blades down to the small of his back. "That you ain't in charge. Tell me."

Bucky sucks in a breath at the contact. He's hard, _so_ hard, harder than he's ever been in his life, probably. "You - yeah, okay, Stevie, you're in charge. Whatever you want, Stevie-doll." Bucky realizes, as he says it, that he honestly means it - he's in over his head now a little, but he's not drowning. Steve wouldn't hurt him. He just wants to boss him around a little bit, and, yeah, okay, he thinks he kinda _likes_ it.

Chuckling, Steve reaches for his hips, yanks Bucky's trousers and undershorts down to his knees. "What _I_ want? You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Bucky pants, "yeah, please, _please_."

Steve leans in a little closer, and wraps a hand loosely around his dick, making Bucky gasp. "First of all, you call me _sir_. None of that 'Stevie-doll' crap you use to try to sweet-talk me. In fact, from now on, I don't want you to speak unless I ask you to, got it? That mouth of yours is only gonna get you in trouble. Half a mind to use _your_ tie to gag it, but I think I got better ideas for that tie, _and_ your mouth."

 _Jesus god_. Bucky feels dizzy, maybe because all the blood in his body has headed straight to his dick, hearing that. He clamps his mouth shut, biting off a retort, and nods.

"There we go. See, you ain't nearly as dumb as you pretend to be, are ya." Bucky looks up at him and flashes a nervous smile. "Yeah, I knew how you were playing it. You think I don't know how you operate, Barnes?" Steve pumps his dick once, twice, and then lets go, stepping back again, and Bucky whimpers at the loss. He hears fabric rustling again - Steve's pants hitting the floor.

"Wasn't very nice of you, pulling a stunt like that. I gave you plenty of chances to drop it." He can hear Steve pick up whatever it was that he'd placed on the floor earlier, unscrewing a cap of some kind. Realization washes over him. _Christ, it's the cooking oil, he brought the cooking oil in here_.  "Here's how this is gonna go, Buck. You want me to stop doin' somethin', if what I'm doin' don't feel good, you let me know. Just say, mmm, Monet. Understand? Say yes or no for me, ok?"

"Y-yeah. Yes. Yessir," Bucky corrects himself shakily.

"Good boy," Steve praises, and Bucky's dick twitches with interest. Steve sees it and laughs, pats his ass. "You like that? Hm? Such a good boy, so good for me. Listen, now, I'm gonna tell you what I'm going to do to you. I'm gonna open up that tight little hole of yours, and then I'm going to slip it to you and get myself off however I please. That sound good, Buck? You want that?"

Bucky groans in response. Sure, he'd fooled around with other guys before, but he'd been the one on top, those times. Once a dark-eyed queer named Gary had slipped a finger to him in the bathhouse, sure, but that was all, and it was while he was sucking his dick anyhow. But he'd never had another man in him before. The idea of _Steve_ inside him makes him shiver, imagining it. He nods, knowing Steve expects an answer, and whispers, "Yessir."

Too late, he realizes that Steve had never said anything about _him_ getting off.

 

* * *

 

 

He hasn't left the position Steve had placed him in - on his knees and bent over at the waist onto the bed - and Steve's got three skinny fingers up in him now, pushing them in and out as easy as you please. Bucky's whimpering, trying to grind back down onto Steve's hand. It feels so _good_ it's driving him mad. He had no idea it could be like that, Steve's fingers occasionally grazing _something_ inside of him that makes him see stars and his cock leak.

Without warning, Steve pulls his fingers out, and then gets himself into position, slicking up his cock and lining himself up. Bucky can feel the head of his dick nudging at the crack of his ass, and he tenses. "Can I?" Steve asks, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades.

"Please," Bucky exhales, "Ste - _sir_ , please, please, _fuck me_ , please."

There's a low laugh behind him, and Steve starts pushing in. The only thing he can think about, while Steve's taking him, is how huge he is, bigger than he imagined, bigger than he'd looked. He slides in with slow little rolls of his hips until he's all the way in, and Bucky's gasping at the intrusion like he's just run a marathon, breathless and full, so full.

When Steve finally starts moving inside of him, Bucky can't stop moaning, every stroke hitting that spot inside him he'd gotten to with his fingers. "God, you - you have no idea how gorgeous you are, how pretty you look when you're taking a cock, do you," Steve says, his voice tight, his hands scrabbling at Bucky's waist. He tries to make it last, by turns moving faster and then slowing it down, but eventually the urge to just pound away is too much for Steve to resist.

"You're so - so hot, and so tight, Christ, I'd be inside you every day, every hour if I could." He can tell Steve's rapidly losing control, his skinny hips thrusting erratically against him, his breath coming faster, little grunts escaping his lips. He wants Steve to touch him, so badly, but he's not allowed to speak...and that knowledge makes him sweat.

"God. _Bucky_. 'M gonna come inside you, fill you up, you want that, huh? Tell me you want that. Go ahead, say my name, sweetheart, it's okay." 

"Steve. Stevie. P- _please_ , I - I want it, gimme it, please, come in me,  _gimme it_ ," he begs, his voice breaking, and Steve lets out a moan as he comes deep inside him, hips jerking in shallow little thrusts.

 

* * *

 

He had thought that was it, that Steve was done, but -

"Kinda wanna ride you," Steve hums thoughtfully. He withdraws his cock slowly, and then taps the side of Bucky's hip. "Up on the bed. On your back." Bucky's knees are aching, his thighs screaming with tension, and he's leaking Steve's come. He stumbles up onto the bed as best he can with his hands still tied. But he manages, and looks over at Steve for further once he's settled in. 

He's grabbed the other tie - Bucky's - off the floor where it lay, and climbs up to straddle him again, making absolutely sure to avoid giving his cock even the barest of touches. "Arms above your head," he instructs, and begins looping the tie through the binding at his wrists and through the bottom slat of the cheap headboard. "Now, don't go pullin' too hard, even though I know you're gonna want to." Steve smiles and leans down to kiss him, and Bucky tips his head up eagerly. It makes him melt. It's softer, more patient, this time, and he parts his lips to let Steve lick into his mouth sweetly. After a few moments he pulls away.

"Gonna put on a show for you, sweetheart." Kneeling up, Steve slicks the fingers his hand with more of the oil he'd brought in, and with a hot, filthy look, begins fingering himself open, right in front of Bucky.

Steve's eyes roll back in his head as he breaches himself with the first finger. He lets out a pretty little moan, hovering over him pale and golden, and Bucky can't even so much as _touch_ him.

Bucky's pretty sure that this is how he's going to die.

 

* * *

 

When Steve finally, slowly, starts lowering himself down on Bucky's cock, he's so sure he's going to come that he lets out a distressed sob. He's so tight and slick, it's nothing like it is with a girl.

"Ssh," Steve pants, slipping down further onto his dick, flushed and sweating. "You're being so good, sweetheart." He reaches one hand behind him to clasp his fingers in a tight ring at the base of Bucky's cock. "No coming yet, not yet, now. You wanna be good for me, don't you?"

Bucky honest to god _wails_ , and balls his hands into fists, blunt fingernails pressed so hard to his palms he thinks he might be drawing blood. He pants, and tries his best not to squirm, but the urge to buck his hips and push into him all the way was goddamn near irresistible. "Oh, _oh_ , oh," he cries out, as Steve takes him all the way, never letting go of his dick. And then stops moving.

There are tears, honest-to-Jesus tears in Bucky's eyes now, and he blinks up at Steve through them, hazy and shimmering. "Oughtta get you a cock ring," Steve muses thoughtfully. "Keep you from coming till I tell you to. Or keep you from coming at all." 

The tears that had been threatening to spill over do, now, running down his cheeks. He's a mess, crying and leaking come and held by the hot clutch of Steve's ass, completely and utterly overcome by him. His vision has narrowed down to just Steve, only Steve, and the painful hardness of his own cock.

"Please, I need to - I've gotta -" he chokes out, forgetting he's not supposed to speak.

"I know," Steve smiles wickedly, puts both hands on his chest and begins to ride him. "Don't you dare."

He takes Bucky right to the edge, his balls drawing up, his dick getting harder than he ever thought it could, and then stops. Lets Bucky calm down, hushes and soothes him until he starts moving again, and then stops before he can come. 

Bucky can't even think, he can't even breathe, he's gasping and groaning and panting and letting out little intermittent pleas that fall on deaf ears. "How long do you think I can do this to you?" Steve muses, but he's panting too, and has gotten hard again. "Three weeks? That sound about right?"

"Lemme come, please, Steve, need to come, wanna come for you, please," he whines, and Steve laughs. He kneels up again, so just the head of Bucky's cock is in him. 

"No," he says simply, and begins to jerk off. "Don't you move, don't you come till I say," he instructs him, and Bucky watches him stroke himself, helpless, and sobs.

Steve grits his teeth and grunts, and then he's shooting off over Bucky's chest, and rocking just a little on the tip of Bucky's dick. He tries to hold off, but he's - he's gonna - "Now," Steve gasps, and the tiny movements he's making are more than enough to get him off, oversensitive as he is.

As he starts to come, Steve pulls off, and Bucky ends up coming all over himself and Steve's back. It's so exquisite he thinks his heart skips a beat or three, his vision going gray at the edges. He's never come so hard in his entire life.

 

* * *

 

"You ever gonna underestimate me again?" Steve asks, untying him from the bedpost.

"No sir," he says quietly.

He takes Bucky's wrists in his hands, massaging them gently. "You gonna be a tease again?" 

"Not no more, Stevie, I swear it." His promise is eager, earnest.

Steve sighs, and kisses his forehead. "Well, that's a shame, don't you think?" he murmurs against his skin.

Bucky's eyes go wide.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's been visiting the bathhouses and queer bars while Bucky's away. Obviously.


End file.
